


Angeles

by tay_har



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tay_har/pseuds/tay_har
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short fic based off of Jensen Ackles' cover of Eliot Smith's "Angeles."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Dean! If you don't wake up now, I will drag your lazy butt out of bed, and I can guarantee that you won't like what's going to happen after that."

Dean moaned as he rolled over and covered his face with his pillow. "But Sam...It's too early to even be alive."

Sam just smirked at his idiot brother while he finished lacing up his shoe. "Seriously Dean. We've got a job to do. So if you don't haul your butt out of bed, I'm taking the Impala and doing it myself."

"NO." Dean sat upright, awake as ever. "You can NOT take the Impala. Anything but my baby." He bolted out of bed and scrambled to find a pair of clean clothes. "Gah you'd think after living on the road for who knows how many years I'd have learned to wash my clothes. Who am I kidding. I've been to hell and back, why should I even care?" He settled for a wrinkled black V-neck, some jeans with a slight tear in the knee (probably from the time he fell running away from a cat while he was stricken with ghost disease), and as always, his worn leather jacket that had belonged to John.

"Okay Sammy. I'm up now. Where to?" Grabbing the keys, dean followed Sammy out the door and to the parking lot of the current hotel they were staying at.

"Well, the information bobby gave us says that this guy named Devon Walters from North Providence, Rhode Island died a week ago. Autopsy says that the cause of death was strychnine, one of the most deadly poisons in the world," Sam rattled off as soon as they were on the road.

"Sam, this isn't sounding quite like our type of job, if you know what I'm saying. So maybe the guy had a run in with someone who didn't like him a whole lot, what's it to us?" Dean wasn't convinced yet, but he knew Sam had a tendency of being right about these things.

"But what if it is? I mean, do you have anything better that we could be investigating?" Sam countered.

"Okay, say this is some supernatural force. What could it be?" It still sounded crazy to dean, but he was willing to give it a shot. After all, they had nothing better to do.

Sam paused before saying, "Y'know dean, I'm not sure. Maybe a vengeful spirit? I don't know. We need to do some more research. North Providence has a library just off the square. I'm sure we can find something there."

It was a little after three when dean rolled into the parking lot of the North Providence Public Library. The two got out, slammed the doors shut, and walked in. They weren't sure where to begin, but dean didn't hesitate to find out once he noticed the cute college-age girl sitting behind the counter, her nose in a book.

"Excuse me, miss," dean said in his rough, deep voice. "I was just wondering, could you, uh, show us where the library would keep a record of deaths in the past couple hundred years or so?"

The girl looked a little startled but soon warmed up to the charming man. "Yep, I can show you where they are. Just follow me."

Dean turned to Sam, winked, and trotted after the girl, Sam closely behind. She led them to a far corner of the library that looked like it hadn't been occupied for quite some time. "Here you go," she said, pulling out a few yellowed folders filled with newspaper clippings and some official documents. "These are most of the records we have from the past, oh, two hundred and fifty years I'd say. Let me know if you need anything else." She shyly smiled at dean as she walked away.

"Dude. Seriously? Focus." Sam reprimanded dean. Disappointed, dean let out a small sigh. "Fine. Let's get to work."

A lengthy three hours passed before either one of them found anything. "Dean, come here. I think I found something. Eleven years ago, a man named Orlando Parish died in the middle of the night. He was found in the kitchen lying next to the fridge, but get this. Cause of death? Asphyxiation. The wife claims no one could have gotten inside without tripping the alarm. They didn't have any pets, and the police couldn't find anything that he could have used to strangle himself. The weirdest part though, is that there was a cup of hot coffee and a plate of half eaten leftovers left on the counter next to the fridge. The police didn't have a clue about who to pin it on, so they never wrapped up the case," Sam explained to Dean.

"Whoa man, that is weird," Dean replied as he shuffled through some more papers. "Sam, look at this. About twenty some years ago a man named Buford Perkins was sitting down to eat supper with his wife. After they had the blessing, about fifteen minutes into the meal, he starting convulsing. First it was just in his hand, but within a few minutes it was all over. By the time his wife called 911, he had stopped breathing. After the autopsy, they found he had strychnine in his bloodstream."

"What's his wife's name?" Sam asked.

"Gwendolyn. Says here that she moved after his death. But that one guy, Devon Walters you said? His wife's still packing, we passed the house on the way here. What do you say we go check it out?" suggested Dean.

When they pulled up to the quaint cottage-like house, it was swarming with men hauling boxes and furniture out of the house. There was a woman standing in the doorway conversing with Mrs. Walters, but neither Dean nor Sam had the faintest idea who it could be. Adjusting his recently donned suit jacket, Dean walked up to the two women.

"Good afternoon, ladies. How are you today? I'm Detective Smith and this is my partner Detective Reynolds. We're with the FBI." He whipped out his fake badge and flashed it in their direction. "Mrs. Walters," he nodded to the one standing inside, "Could we ask you a few questions?"

Mrs. Walters looked a little startled, but recovered quickly. "Of-of course detective. Come one in." She ushered Sam and Dean into the sitting room. "Would you like some coffee or water or anything?" She nervously offered.

"Oh no ma'am, we're fine. Thank you for offering," Sam replied politely. "We were just wondering if you noticed anything strange before your husband's death."

Her brow furrowed as she thought. "Well, I can't say that I noticed anything out of the ordinary. Devon didn't mention anything wrong at work, and things at home were just fine."

"Was there anybody who might have wanted to hurt him?" Dean asked bluntly.

"Oh heavens no..." She paused. "Well, he did mention one of his coworkers once. His name is Johnny. Johnny Barnes. Devon got a promotion a few weeks ago, and Johnny was upset because everyone knew the spot Devon got was basically locked in for Johnny. Their boss must have changed his mind or something because Devon ended up getting the promotion instead. I'd say Johnny was pretty lucky though. Once Devon got promoted, he spent every night at work and didn't come home until one or two in the morning most nights." A dark look crossed her face as she recalled the events.

"Mrs. Walters, where exactly did your husband work?" Sam asked.

"He worked at Business Innovation Factory down in Providence."

"Okay, well we appreciate you answering questions for us. Here's our card if you need anything or something comes up." Dean handed her a business card with a fake name and his cell number and motioned to Sam that they should leave.

As Dean was trotting down the steps, he bumped into the woman that had been talking to Mrs. Walters fifteen minutes before. "Oh I'm sorry ma'am, didn't mean to ram into you." He looked up and noted the slight smile on her face.

"Dean Winchester. How nice to finally meet you," the woman drawled with a sultry tone in her voice. "And you as well Sam."

A frown appeared on Dean's face, and he looked at Sam with a face that suggested something was wrong with this picture. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, but this woman jarringly reminded him of Bela, a thief that he and Sam had run into a while back. She had full, red lips, dark, piercing eyes, and stood in a way that suggested that she knew how to handle herself under pressure situations.

"Oh c'mon boys, don't look so surprised. Everyone's heard of you. Everyone in the hunting realm at least." Sam's face betrayed a look of surprise, and the woman knew she had hit a nerve. "That's right boys. I've been trailing this case for a while now. It's somewhat a hobby of mine, hunting is. I think of it more as a game of chance, I suppose. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. It just so happens that I have enough contacts to keep tabs on you, and I couldn't resist crossing paths."

Dean was too busy checking her out to absorb what she had just told them. The way her nose curved perfectly into a small point. How her large, brown eyes reflected the light. The small splotches of freckles that dotted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She was stunning. Once he finally regained his composure, he said, "So how do you know so much about us? Actually, before you answer that, who are you?" There was so much he wanted to know about her, but all he knew at this point was that she was a part time hunter and he couldn't take his eyes off of her.

That small smile that made her eyes crinkle at the corners reappeared on her face. She stepped down onto the sidewalk, seemingly ignoring Dean's question. But before she spun on her heel and walked away, she said, "Angeles. I'm Angeles."


	2. Chapter 2

Angeles. Angeles. Angeles. The name seemed to pound into his head, trying to leave an imprint on his mind. He just couldn't forget her. Everything about her was one gigantic enigma, and he couldn't figure out why he cared so much. Maybe it was her name. Who names their kid Angeles? Or maybe it was the fact that she knew exactly who Sam and Dean were. They usually kept a low profile, except for the time that they let all hell loose, or when Dean had his whole "selling his soul to the devil" ordeal, but that was behind them. They had virtually disappeared off the map since then. Whatever it was that unnerved him, he just had to forget it. He couldn't let some chick get in the way of the job they were working. Dean rolled over onto his side, curled up with his pillow, and fell asleep.

The next morning, Dean woke up with a start. He had a shockingly vivid dream involving Angeles, a demon, and a lot of dead bodies. He shook himself awake, stripped his shirt and boxers off, and climbed into the shower.

"DEAN! DEAN OPEN UP." A fist incessantly pounding on the bathroom door accompanied the ringing voice. "Oh alright alright Sammy, give me a minute!" Dean shouted back, somewhat irritated. He flung open the door, towel around his waist, shaking his wet hair out. "What was so important that you had to interrupt my shower?" Dean demanded.

"Remember those two guys who died like Walters? Guess what major event happened to them within a week of their deaths?" Sam didn't even pause before continuing. "They both got promotions. Guess what was so strange about those promotions? There was someone other than them that was supposed to get the promotion. Turns out, all three of these guys were unmotivated and lazy. That's why nobody expected the promotions."

"Sam where is this going? I still don't see why this couldn't have waited until after my shower." Dean rolled his eyes, getting more annoyed by the second.

"Dean just hear me out. Turns out, Perkins worked with a guy named Johnny Barnes, just like our friend Walters. And as it just so happens, Johnny was in line for the promotion that Perkins got. Guess what Johnny's hobby was. Botany. Johnny loved plants."

Dean blankly looked at Sam for a second before something clicked. "So you're saying that Johnny grew this strychnine stuff in what, his personal greenhouse? And then he snuck some into Perkins evening dinner without his wife knowing?"

Sam smiled in triumph. "That's exactly what I'm saying. I'm still trying to figure out how he got the stuff in Perkins food, but one step at a time. There's something I want to check out today. Get your jacket, we've got to get a start."

Dean got dressed, pulling on the same jeans as yesterday, but seeing as it was more overcast and cool today, he threw on a red plaid flannel button down. Grabbing his jacket off the desk chair, he locked up the room and headed outside. He climbed into the impala, shoved the keys in the ignition, and began to back out. Before he reached the road, he swore he caught a glimpse of Angeles' long, straight, auburn hair.

"What is it?" Sam asked. He always worried about Dean after his trip down under.

"Nothing. I'm fine." Dean lied. In all honesty, he wasn't just fine. He was everything but fine. But that didn't matter. What mattered was this job. He was ready to wrap it up and get out of North Providence as fast as he could. Then he could forget about this whole Angeles ordeal.

"Okay Dean whatever you say." Sam turned up the dial on the volume, and they spent the rest of the ride with classic rock blaring in the background.

"Turn here," Sam said after about fifteen minutes. Dean slowed to a stop in front of a sketchy looking brick building labeled "PROVIDENCE COURTHOUSE."

"Sammy I'm not so sure about this..." trailed Dean.

"Just trust me Dean. I know what I'm doing." Sam climbed out of the car and strutted up to the building, pulling open the door. Dean dogged behind him. Inside the building were signs pointing to various departments. Drivers were directed to the left, legal matters to the right. Sam followed the sign to the right, and the two brothers found themselves in a stuffy office with filing cabinets lining every square inch of wall. Behind the counter was a thin, bespectacled, middle aged woman with a name tag that read "SAMANTHA."

"Excuse me, but I'm Officer Stanton with the federal department. I'm following up on the Perkins case from a couple decades ago. I was just wondering if you could show me the coroner's records." Sam bluffed.

Samantha thought for a second, then furiously typed something into her computer. "Oh yes, it says right here that the department sent you down here. One second, I'll have Angeles pull the files for you."

Dean had to stop himself from jumping. "Uh, sorry, but who did you say was going to pull the files?"

The woman turned up an eyebrow. "Angela? She's in charge of organizing and pulling the files. Is there a problem?"

"Oh no, no it's fine. I just thought- never mind. It's not a problem," Dean mumbled.

Samantha disappeared into a back room, probably looking for Angela.

"Dude are you okay? Seriously, why are you so jumpy all of a sudden?" Sam was mocking Dean, but at the same time, he was completely serious.

"Sammy..." Dean was debating how much to tell Sam. "It's nothing. Seriously. I just didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night." He shrugged it off. Sam didn't need to know about his infatuation with this Angeles chick. The last time Sam got involved with one of Dean's girl problems, things ended with lots and lots of bugs. So in short, not very well.

This didn't quite convince Sam otherwise, but he let it go since a girl who must have been Angela appeared with the files they needed. "Here you go boys. Stop by if you need anything else." She passed off the files to Sam and disappeared into the back again.

When they got back to the hotel, Dean flopped down on the bed while Sam spread out the papers and tried to decipher the mystery they had on their hands. "Dean Know you could get off your butt and help me here. I didn't drop out of Stanford to sit here and do your hunting for you." There was no response from Dean. "Dean. I'm serious. Get out of bed." Sam turned around, expecting to see Dean with a smug smile on his face, tormenting Sam with his insufferable stubbornness, but all that greeted Sam's eyes was two empty beds and some horrid wallpaper behind them. "Typical," Sam mumbled under his breath, and he got back to work.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean had no clue where he was going; the only thing he was really sure of was the fact that he needed to find Angeles. He needed some answers. After driving around for an hour pondering where in this godforsaken town he could find his mystery woman, he called it quits and drove up to the nearest bar. Walking up to the counter, he grabbed a beer and went to go sit in a booth in the back corner. He didn't want to think anymore; his head was aching with constant drumming of Angeles, Angeles, Angeles, in his head. He let out a small moan.

"What's the matter honey? You don't seem to be feeling so good," a waitress walked up and grabbed his now empty bottle of beer, replacing it with a new one.

"Yeah I'm fine. Why does everybody ask what's wrong? Nothing's wrong!" Dean shot back. He wasn't in the mood to deal with concerned waitresses. He stared straight ahead, not even bothering to look at the waitress.

The waitress slipped into the booth, sitting directly across from Dean, who looked down at his beer. "But unfortunately for you, I'm really good at reading people. And something tells me that you're not okay. Missing someone?" She said it in almost a playful tone.

Looking up, Dean's jaw dropped. "Wait. No." He paused, doubting his own eyes. But she was there, her beautiful auburn hair, dark chocolate eyes, the adorable freckles. "Angeles?" His incredulous tone betrayed his disbelief.

"I figured you were looking for me," she said, a small smirk on her face. "How could you not? After the introduction I gave you, I don't blame you."

Dean was speechless. His mind seemed to slow down, not able to form a comprehensive thought. "But...how do you...I mean, what do you...wait. First, who the hell are you?" Suddenly anger clawed its way to the top of his chest, filling him with an inkling of irritation for this woman. He didn't know anything about her, not really.

"I already told you. I'm Angeles. I'm somewhat of a hobby hunter, for lack of a better phrase. What else do you want to know?" She said it with such a concerned tone; Dean calmed down a little bit. Her voice was like honey, dripping sweetly from her lips.

"What do you mean by hobby hunter? All the hunters I know are dead set on killing any and every evil thing out there. Heck, I met a hunter once who wanted to kill my brother because of some fiasco with a yellow eyed demon," Dean began to open up. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like he could trust this girl.

"Oh trust me Dean, I know Gordon. That bastard would kill anything in his way if it showed the slightest sign of evil," Angeles's eyes grew dark, and her brow furrowed a little bit.

"Okay second: how do you know so much about me and Sam? We thought we wiped our existence from every database and record file. There's no way you could hear that much about us from other hunters. I mean, we are pretty spectacular and everything, but nobody except bobby knows that much about us." Dean was still puzzled by this fact. Even Bobby didn't know everything about the two brothers.

"Like I said. I have my sources. I'm not going to betray their confidence, but let's just say I piece together what I can," Angeles tried to explain.

Dean was getting frustrated again. "I still don't understand what you want."

"Does it matter what I want?" Angeles shot back.

"Damn right it matters! I can't just have some random chick 'accidentally' bump into me on a job who knows every stinking detail of my life and not wonder what the hell she wants!" Dean slammed his beer down on the table. "So tell me now, or you're going to be in a mess that no amateur hunter could get their pretty little ass out of."

Angeles sighed and whispered one word: "You."

"Me?" Dean was confused. What could he do for this woman?

"I wanted to get to know you," she trailed off.

Dean wasn't sure how to respond. This made absolutely no sense to him. Usually he was the one putting the moves on the girl, but the other way around? This was new. "Listen, Angeles." His voice was a little rough, but it held the tiniest hint of softness in it. "I've gotta get back to Sammy. We need to finish this job. But here's my number," he reached for a napkin and scribbled some digits on it. "We can meet up again some night and get to know each other a little better." He paused before he added, "I'd really like that."

She blushed a little, her cheeks glowing with delight. "Okay Dean, see you later."

She turned around and began to walk back to the counter. Before she was more than three feet away, Dean said, "Hey Angeles."

Turning around, she smiled. "Yeah?"

Dean looked down, deciding how he was going to word what he wanted to say. "It's just...I'm so glad to meet you, Angeles."

And flashing that perfect half-moon smile at Dean, she nodded. "You too Dean. You too."


	4. Chapter 4

"Deanwhere the hell have you been? I've been worried that you were out getting ripped apart by some demon! C'mon!" Sam reprimanded his older brother, who was still recovering from the run in with Angeles.

"Sammy I'm not your kid brother. Besides, I sent you a text if you would bother to look at your phone," Dean snapped back. "Not everything is my fault you know."

"Yeah but Dean, I don't know what I would do without you. You can't just run off like that!"

"Whatever Sam. It won't happen again." That was the closest Dean could come to an apology.

"Listen, while you were out I did some more research, and I think this Johnny is our guy. The records we picked up today said that Johnny was found dead only hours after Perkins had died."

"So if Johnny died, the Johnny that's at the business now is his ghost?" Dean was slightly confused. How could the same man appear three different times, all relating to three identical deaths?

"Well, that's what it looks like, but our man Johnny picked up and left town a few days ago apparently. So not much we can do about that now," Sam said, a little dejectedly.

Dean punched the wall. "Damn it Sammy, how are we supposed to finish the job now?"

"I- well, I have an idea. If Johnny is the spirit that's behind these murders, we just have to find his grave, and then salt and burn the bones, right? And it says here in the report that he's buried at the only cemetery in town."

"Alright. We'll go tonight. But after that, can we please get out of this town?" Dean pleaded.

"Of course, we just have to finish the job first," Sam replied. Then he added, "And just a little side note, things would maybe go a little faster if you didn't keep disappearing on me."

Later that night, Dean double checked supplies before they began their escapade to the cemetery. Salt? Check. Matches? Check. Shovels? Check. Gas? Check. Dean gave Sam the thumbs up, and they were off. Once they reached the cemetery, the hard part was finding the gravestone. They were decent enough at digging up dead bodies, but finding them? That was the real task at hand. They wandered around the cemetery that seemed to have no rhyme or reason to where the graves were located.

"Sam! Over here!" Dean beckoned Sam over toward a moss-covered headstone that was labeled with just the name "John Barnes"; no date, no epitaph, no sentiment. Just the name.

"Well, let's get to work," Sam said.

An hour and a half later, a perfectly dug rectangle lay in the middle of the cemetery. Sam was busy covering the body in salt and gas while Dean dug out the matches. Once the match was lit, Dean stared at it for a minute, as if contemplating something, before he threw it in. The body went up in flames, and the boys filled in the hole after there was nothing but ashes left in the coffin.

"You can head to the car. Ill pack up here and make sure we got everything," Dean told Sam.

"Okay. I'll start the car for you." Dean tossed him the keys, and Sam was soon lost in the darkness.

Dean had just tossed the last of the gas cans into the rucksack when he heard a twig snap behind him. "Sam?" Dean slowly turned around, expecting to come face to face with some demon or zombie, but all that greeted him was the vast expanse of the graveyard. He shook himself for being so stupid. He'd faced worse on his own before, what was some stupid animal in a graveyard? He shouldered the sack and walked back to the main path.

All of a sudden, he heard the sound of quiet breathing behind him. He began to panic, if only slightly, and slowly turned around, hand resting on the gun that was snug beneath his jacket.

"Dean, why so paranoid?" a soft voice whispered. "It's only me."

Dean took a deep breath. It was only Angeles. He took his hand off the gun and looked at her. The moonlight shone in her sleek auburn hair, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. She was obviously amused at Dean's paranoia.

"Angeles, what are you doing here?" Dean inquired, quite puzzled.

"No reason," she replied, a full grin breaking out now.

Dean let out an exasperated sigh. She may be beautiful, but she was sure as hell frustrating. "Okay well I've gotta get back to Sam, if you don't mind."

"Oh no, that's fine. I should get going anyway." She knew her mysteriousness was irritating Dean.

"Yeah, well, okay." Dean turned around and stalked off. Before he got more than three paces away, her arm wrapped around him, her hand resting on the small of his back.

"You know, you did say we could meet up some night and get to know each other better." Her voice was still soft, but it had an air of teasing to it.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're kidding me right? I meant some night not in a graveyard where you're obviously stalking me while I finish up a job."

"Regardless, this still fits the criteria." She turned and faced him. He couldn't help but notice the slight twinkle in her eyes as she smirked at him. Before he knew what was happening, she stood up on her tiptoes, wrapped her arm gently around his neck, and pulled him in. It lasted no more than a split second before Angeles unwound herself from the stunned man and scampered off, disappearing into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean was panting by the time he made it back to the impala. Between the kiss and sprinting through the graveyard, he had all but stopped breathing. Opening the trunk, he took a few slow, deep breaths. He threw the rucksack in the back and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Feeling a little out of shape there Dean?" his brother joked.

A sliver of a smile appeared on Dean's face. "Yeah, yeah I guess."

Sam chuckled. "Well let's get out of here and back to the motel. We can hit the road in the morning."

Dean hit the gas, and they were back at the dumpy motel in fifteen minutes. Once inside, Sam stripped down to just his boxers and flopped down on the bed. He was out within five minutes. Dean, on the other hand, couldn't sleep. He wanted to call Angeles, but he realized that they had only done a one way swap of numbers. He tossed and turned, but finally gave up, realizing that sleep was quite improbable at that point. Getting up to go to the bathroom, Dean yawned. The room was only lit by the few rays of moonlight peeking through the blinds, and it was too late before Dean remembered the table on the way to the bathroom. He tripped over one of the legs, letting out a silent curse before he got back on his feet.

As Dean splashed water from the faucet on his face, he looked at himself in the mirror. There were faint bags under his eyes betraying the fact that he hadn't gotten much, if any, sleep at all lately. His scruff had reached the point where it looked like the beginnings of a beard, and his hair was tousled and messy. Deciding that he would take care of his stubble in the morning, he flipped the lights witch off and made the return trip to his bed, careful to avoid the table this time around.

Just as he sunk his head back into his pillow, a light appeared on the nightstand, accompanied by the sound of buzzing. Dean rolled over, reached for his phone, and glanced at the caller ID. He didn't recognize it, but his finger tapped the "answer" button anyway.

"Hello?" His voice was scratchy.

"Dean." The sweet, sultry voice danced through the phone.

Dean was relieved and excited to hear her voice, though he'd never let her know. "Angeles, you realize that it's two am, don't you?"

She laughed, obviously amused. "No Dean, I had no idea. See, time hasn't really mattered to me since we got acquainted." The smile was still present, but a hint of seriousness snuck through.

Dean's heart skipped a beat. He told himself to stop. She was just a girl, no different than any of the past girls he had hooked up with. "Is that so?"

"You bet. So, seeing as you still owe me a date and both of us are still up, what do you say you come over to my place?"

Dean contemplated the idea. He barely knew the girl, but wasn't that why he was going? So he could get to know her better? "Alright. I just need a place and I'll be there in five."

"There's an apartment building on Merchant Street. Walk in, take the stairs to the third floor, and it's the last door on the right." There was a click, and her voice was gone.

Dean jumped out of bed and quickly scribbled a note to Sam. Couldn't sleep. Want out for a few drinks. I'll be back before noon. He snatched his jacket and slipped out the door.

The impala was the only thing that stirred in the town. It rolled to a stop in front of an ivy-covered, brick apartment building within five minutes. Dean cut the ignition, shoved the keys in his pocket, and strode through the door and up the three flights of stairs inside. Once he reached the last door on the right, he paused, his fist poised a few inches from the door. He shook off the thought of what am I doing here? and softly knocked three times.

Angeles's face appeared in the small crack between the hall and her apartment. She smiled at Dean, and opened the door, motioning him to come in. "I'm so glad to see you," she said softly, as if there was someone in the room that she didn't want to wake. "Here, sit down," she motioned to the couch. "I'll grab you a beer." She slunk off to the kitchen. Dean heard the fridge door open, the clinking of bottles, and then the fridge door shut. Angeles returned to the living room with two beers in her hands. Handing off one of them to Dean, she sat down beside him and put her feet up on the couch. Dean leaned back, took a long swig of his beer, and threw his feet up on the coffee table.

"Wow," Dean mumbled.

Angeles looked over at the exhausted man lounging on her couch. "What?"

"It's...well, for starters, it's two thirty in the morning and I'm sitting on some chicks couch drinking a beer like we've been friends forever. That's pretty weird," Dean rambled.

"And what else?" Angeles urged him to continue.

"I left Sammy at the hotel, and he's going to freak when he wakes up." Dean just kept listing reasons off. "It seems like there's always a job to do, always some evil to kill. It's almost like I get paid in satisfaction for killing a demon rather than money. There's always some trail to some supernatural thing, always some 'money' to be made. I just want a break, Know? It's what I've done my whole life." He paused and took a deep breath. "Sorry," he mumbled gruffly. "I shouldn't be telling you all this."

Dean stared straight ahead while Angeles gazed at him. She seemed to be soaking in everything about him, from his long past five o'clock shadow, to his golden green eyes that seemed to hold the weight of the world in them, to his muscled chest, rising and falling with every breath he took. She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"Do you ever wish you could have a do over in life? Like you made a big mistake somewhere along the lines, and then something happens that makes you wish you'd never done it?" She trailed off, lost in thought.

"Yeah. Yeah I know what you mean." Dean flashed back to that night when he watched Sam get stabbed in the back, the night when Sam should have died. He flashed back to the crossroads where he summoned the demon, made a deal with it. He flashed back to the night when the hellhounds ripped him apart, skin from bone. He flashed back to the eternity he spent in hell and all the horrors that went hand in hand with them. "But sometimes, you know it was the right thing to do, even if things turned out differently than you wanted them to."

A tear slid down Dean's cheek and landed silently on Angeles's forehead. He looked down at her, pain filling his eyes. He wiped his eyes and looked away. A soft hand reached up and caressed his face. Angeles pulled him closer, pressing her lips ever so softly to his. Dean let everything slide out of his mind: his worries about Sam, his fears of hell, his frustration with hunting. He placed a hand around Angeles's waist and pulled her onto his lap. She pulled back for a moment and noticed the light freckles that dotted Dean's cheeks. She pulled him close again, and slowly unbuttoned the plaid flannel that Dean was wearing. After a few minutes, Angeles pressed her cheek to his and whispered in his ear, "Follow me."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him off the couch. She tried to turn around, but Dean held her fast. He brushed back the hair from her heart-shaped face and brought her in for another kiss. Putting a finger to his lips, Angeles led him to her bedroom. "In here," she said, and he lay down on the bed. He closed his eyes and waited for Angeles to join him. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled at Dean. He looked so peaceful, as if nothing was wrong. A sigh escaped from between her parted lips. What she had to do to Dean would be next to impossible now. She couldn't bring herself to do it, not now anyway. It could wait. She slowly shut the door and climbed under the covers with him.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean woke with a start the next morning. In a rush, the events of the last six hours came rushing back to him. He rolled over to see Angeles's sleeping figure next to him, lit up by the sun shining through the window behind her. With a small grin, Dean sat up on his elbows and soaked in the ecstasy of being next to one of the most beautiful women he had ever met. He flopped back down and tried to go back to sleep. Just as he was slipping back into unconsciousness, he felt a light brush on his nose. His leaden eyelids opened again, and above him was Angeles, gently kissing his nose. Sleep was calling him, but so was Angeles. A small grumble escaped his lips. With slight reluctance, he pulled Angeles over to him. She settled over him, and ran her delicate fingers through his short, messy hair. Eventually, he couldn't resist sleep any longer and fell back into its clutches.

A few hours later, Dean woke up more fully. Angeles was still draped across him, tracing his jaw line with her finger. He reached up, combed his fingers through Angeles's tangled hair, and kissed her, soft and slow. "Good morning," he greeted her in a gruff voice. She smiled, but Dean thought he saw something else in her eyes, something other than happiness. Sorrow? Regret? Fear? He couldn't decide.

"How about I go make us some coffee?" Angeles suggested.

"Sounds great," Dean replied. He needed to make a phone call to Sam anyway. Climbing out of bed, he pulled on the pants he wore last night but didn't bother finding his shirt among the mess of sheets and blankets. He dug around in the front pocket of his jeans to find his phone. After punching in Sam's number, he held the phone up to his ear.

"Dean?" A slightly worried voice met Dean's ears.

"Hey Sam, I'm okay. Did you get my note?" Dean didn't really feel like explaining everything that had gone on in the course of the past twelve hours.

"Yeah, I was hoping you'd call anyway. Know, just to check in." Relief filled Sam's voice. He was always on edge after Dean's trip to the underworld.

"Yeah, listen, I'm in downtown Providence right now. I'll be heading back to the motel in half an hour or so. If you want to pack everything, we can hit the road once I get back."

"Okay sounds great. See you in a bit." The phone clicked, and Sam was gone.

Dean slipped out of the bedroom and went to go find Angeles. "Angeles? You in the kitchen?" Dean called out.

"Yeah, coffee's ready if you want to come get it," she called back.

Dean wove his way through the maze that was her living room and into the kitchen where Angeles was pouring two mugs of coffee. He came up behind her, wrapped his arm around her waist, and leaned in to kiss her. When she turned her face to him though, it wasn't the doe-eyed playful face he'd come to adore. Her eyes were now darker than pitch, but her mouth wasn't curved into a malicious grin like every other demon he'd known. Her mouth was turned slightly down, as if she was trying to hold back tears. Dean jumped back.

"What- what the hell, Angeles?" Dean shouted, his face a contortion of rage and panic.

"Dean, I'm so sorry. I- I couldn't tell you. My orders..." She trailed off, a tear slipping from her eye.

"No, Angeles, you tell me what the hell is going on here. And you better make it quick or I will exorcize your ass back to where it belongs."

"Just, just let me explain Dean!" Angeles pleaded.

Dean looked at the clock. "You have five minutes."

Angeles inhaled and began, "What I said earlier, about being a hunter? That was true. It's just... I'm not what you would think of as a hunter." She paused. "See, I hunt- I hunt the things that hunt the supernatural. I hunt the hunters."

"What, so you're a demon that hunts people like me? People like Sam? That's nothing new," Dean scoffed.

"Dean, I'm not a demon."

This took Dean by surprise. "But then... What are you?"

"I'm every bit as human as you Dean." Tears pooled in Angeles's eyes. She couldn't bring herself to say what she was dreading the most, but she swallowed the knot in her throat. "My orders, they come from a higher power. And these orders are to kill you, Dean Winchester."

Death threats were nothing new to Dean, but death threats from someone he had begun to care about? That was like a knife to the heart. "But..." Dean couldn't think of anything to say. He was petrified, frozen to the tile floor.

"Dean believe me, I didn't ask for this."

"Oh yeah? Then how come you're standing in front of me, one minute pulling the moves on me and the next blind sighting me with a death threat? Angeles, cut the bullcrap."

"Dean, listen. Awhile back, I took a gamble, and I lost. But losing, that's the history of the trade isn't it?" She snaked around the island in the middle of the room. Dean took a step back, not wanting to have a knife suddenly pulled on him.

"So what happened, Angeles? Sell your soul to the devil? Bargained with a djinn? Maybe compromised with a trickster?"

"Actually Dean, it was my brother. My parents, they went out one night. I was instructed to stay home and watch my little brother. Surely you know how that goes. I decided to put in a movie to keep him entertained. He was six at the time, and he loved watching teenage mutant ninja turtles. He fell asleep on the couch, and I didn't want to wake him. I left him there, tucked in with a few blankets to keep him warm. Then I went to bed. The next thing I know I hear screams from the living room. I-" she paused, shuddered, and caught her breath. "I found him lying on the couch, dead. My six year old brother. I had no idea what I was going to do.

"I ran to find the phone, to call my parents. Before I found it, a hand grabbed from behind and turned me around. I was standing face to face with a man who had the most horrifying red eyes I had ever seen. Blood was covering his hands, and he had a cruel smile carved into his face. 'Angeles. So glad to meet you. I just wanted to drop in tonight to pay a visit to your little brother.' I had tears streaming down my face, convinced that I was dreaming. 'Bring him back! Bring him back!' I shouted at him. He still smiled at me and said, 'I'm sorry Angeles, your brother is gone. However...' He trailed off. 'There is one thing you can do.' I was desperate, ready to do anything to save my brother. Don't you know that feeling?

"'What? What can I do?' I pleaded with him. 'Help me. Help me strike down those who hunt me.' I had grown up with a hunter for a father, so I knew exactly what the demon was talking about. I added up the card I had left to play, and they ended up adding up to zero. There was no other way. I signed up with evil, Dean. I agreed to help him, but he had to bring my brother back first. He did, and I've been doing his bidding since. I was hoping there was some way out eventually, and trust me, I've tried everything I could think of. But there's nothing to get you out of a deal with the devil." Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she recalled the events of her past.

Dean was taken aback. This was not what he had been expecting. He cared about Angeles, even though he had known her for a few days. What he said next was a direct result of his newfound feelings for her. "Angeles, I'm going to help you get out of this deal. I swear to God, I will get you out."

"But Dean, it's not possible! I know you're one of the greatest hunters out there, but there is absolutely no way out of this. Especially since I'm supposed to kill you within the week. If I don't, then the demon is coming for me, Dean. He's going to take me like he took my brother."

Dean gently grabbed her by the shoulders. He lifted her chin up so she could look at him, and he reassured her. "I'm going to find a way Angeles, I promise you."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean raced to get back to the motel. He didn't bother to completely stop before he flung open the door and strode over to Sam, who was waiting inside the door to their room.

"Sam change of plans. We're staying a little longer. Something popped up." Dean launched into his story about Angeles and didn't leave any room for Sam to get a word in edgewise until he finished.

"So you mean, that woman that we saw the other day, she's caught in a deal? And she has to kill you? Why? Because this demon's feelings got hurt after you tried to hunt it?" Sam started thinking out loud.

"Yeah Sam that's exactly what I'm saying. And we can't let this demon get a hold of her." Dean was desperate to save Angeles, whom he'd grown so fond of.

"Okay, well, I think we both know what has to happen. I mean, remember your deal? You had to kill the holder of the contract, and that didn't work out so well last time." Sam thought he should warn Dean before his hopes got too high.

"I know, so all we have to do is find the demon and kill it. Easy enough," Dean said, trying to keep the fear and worry out of his voice.

"Dean you know it's not that simple," Sam replied. "We first need to find the demon, and even once we find it, how are you planning on killing it?"

Dean was thinking about the demon-killing knife that Ruby had given them once upon a time, safely tucked away in the trunk of the impala. As for finding the demon, he had a few ideas up his sleeve. "Sam, please. At least help me try."

Sam had never seen his brother so desperate to save someone. It reminded him of the time he got involved with a werewolf. He had been just as desperate as Dean to find a cure for the disease inflicted on the beautiful girl, but there was none. "Alright Dean, I'll help."

Sam sat down and began looking through books of rituals and incantations, trying to find the one to summon a demon. While Sam was researching, Dean's phone buzzed in his pocket. He slipped it out and answered it. "Angeles."

"Listen to me Dean. I know you want to help, but I don't want you getting yourself killed. Not for me."

"No Angeles, I'm going to kill this son of a bitch and get you out of this deal. I'm not going to lose you," Dean swallowed the knot forming in his throat. He didn't want to think about the consequences if he failed the task at hand.

"But Dean-" she pleaded.

He cut her off. "No buts about it Angeles." He heard a sigh on the other end. "I want to do this, I need to do this. Because Angeles, I- I need you." There they were. The three words that a Winchester used in place of the common phrase, "I love you." The three words that meant that a Winchester truly cared about you and wanted you out of harm's way. The three words that signified that a Winchester wouldn't let anything stop them from getting their way. "Now listen, I've gotta go. I'll be over at your place at 9, be ready."

"Dean?" Angeles said.

"Yeah Angeles?" His voice dripped with concern.

"Be careful."

"I will." And he clicked the line dead. He turned to Sam. "Found anything yet Sammy?" he asked.

"Well, this is the incantation used to summon a demon." He pointed to an ancient printed text, written in Latin. "And here's all the materials we're going to need." His finger slid down the page to a small box where various items were listed. "I think we have most of this, it's just a matter of finding it. When did you tell Angeles we'd be over?"

"I told her around nine. It's two now, so that gives us seven hours. That should be plenty of time. Let's go." Dean snatched the keys from the table where Sam was seated and headed out to the impala.

Once they were done scouring Providence and the surrounding area for all the materials they would need, it was quarter til nine. Dean wove his way through innumerable back roads and alleys to get to Angeles's apartment as quickly as possible. After Dean had parked, they flung open the back doors and grabbed the three boxes of candles, matches, spray paint, bits of iron, salt, and other demon repelling objects. The two trudged up the three flights of carpeted stairs, careful not to drop anything. Dean didn't bother knocking this time around, and he found Angeles curled up in a ball on the couch, cup of coffee gripped tightly in her hands. Setting it down on the coffee table, she rushed over to Dean, who swept her into his arms and held her tight.

"It's okay Angeles, we're going to get you out of this. I promise." He kissed her forehead. "I promise." He whispered again, so only she could hear. Looking at Sam, Angeles still in his arms, he said, "go to the bedroom. Clear away the rug and get to work. I'll be there in a second."

Sam hauled the boxes into the other room and began to graffiti the floor with circles and stars and ancient characters. He shut the door, so Dean and Angeles could talk alone for a minute.

"Here's the plan. Sam is going to summon the demon here," Dean explained. He saw the raw fear dance in her eyes. "Don't worry, we've put salt and bits of iron everywhere. We'll all be okay. I'm going to get you out of this." Dean couldn't say it enough.

"Okay, I trust you." Angeles had given up fighting him. It was pointless, she knew, but she still wasn't too fond of the idea of Dean putting his life in danger.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, head peeking out from the bedroom. "It's ready!"

Looking down at Angeles, Dean asked, "Are you ready?"

She responded with a small kiss, the only answer she could think of.


	8. Chapter 8

"Et ad congregandum," Sam chanted. "Es coram me." His nimble fingers struck a match and threw it into the bowl of herbs sitting in the middle of seven candles, connected by lines of chalk. The flames swallowed the herbs, fumes filled the room. The room was silent. Angeles gripped onto Dean's arm, trembling ever so slightly. All of a sudden six of the seven candles went out. A warm wind blew through the room, and the silence beat a tattoo against the threesome's ears. Sam stood up, iron bar in hand, and examined the room. Dean pulled out the knife, ready to slash through anything remotely resembling a demon.

"Tsk. Dean Winchester, chasing demons. Typical," came a mocking voice from the doorway. Leaning against the doorframe was a tall, slender man, scruff covering most of his tanned, leathery face.

Dean knew that that voice. He knew it all too well. "You son of a bitch. Go back to hell." He charged forward, blindly stabbing in all directions, hoping to get a piece of Alistair's second in command. The entire knife met was thin air.

"Silly boy, you act as though I don't know a cursed knife when I see one." The voice mocked him again, this time from beside the bed.

"I swear I am going to tear you apart, limb by limb by friggin limb." Anger had taken its hold on Dean. Rage engulfed him, taking on a mind of its own.

"You poor thing. Falling for a cursed woman. What a mess you'll be after I take care of business here," the demon chuckled.

Dean looked for Sam but couldn't see a thing in the dark. "Sam, you and Angeles get out of here. I'll take care of this bastard." A muffled sound came from the corner closest to the door, and the shadows of two figures appeared to slip out of the room. No more than a second after they had left, the door slammed shut behind them. "Just you and me now, huh? This should be interesting." Dean circled the room, trying to get his bearings. The light from the one candle wasn't enough to see anything in the room.

A haunting voice replied to his taunt. "You see Dean, the thing is...it's not you and me that have unfinished business. It's the girl that I'm concerned about. Her one and only order was to do whatever I asked of her, and do you see what she did? She went and fell in love with the one person I needed her to wipe off the slate. We can't have that now can we?"

"Show your ugly face you coward!" Dean roared. He was getting fed up. Right when he thought he saw something red flash in the corner of his eye, he was knocked off his feet. The door flew open and a loud thunk followed by a scream came from the living room. "Angeles!" Dean bellowed. He got to his feet and sprinted through the door. Before he could make it out, something dropped on him, knocking him off his feet and sending him slipping into unconsciousness.

When he came to, he saw Sam slumped up against the coffee table next to him, blood dripping down his face. He appeared to be unconscious, but Dean wasn't worried about Sam. He was worried about Angeles and what had happened in between the time he was knocked out and now.

"Dean! Dean help! No! DEAN!" Angeles's tortured screams filled the entire apartment. "Dean help me! No!"

Dean, struggling to get on his feet, tried to flip the light switch in the living room. Light flickered overhead, surprising him. "Angeles where are you?" Dean shouted. He was unable to keep his voice from trembling. The only reply he got was the sound of Angeles's muffled screams. He couldn't pinpoint where they were coming from, but he knew he had to hurry. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam slowly stir and get back on his feet. "You whore," Dean heard a voice slice through the air. "You filthy whore. I save your brother for you, and this is how you repay me?" He scrambled through the living room, peeking in the bathroom, "Quit your sniveling! I'm so sick of the excuses!"; guest bedroom, "You know what disobedience means, don't you?"; and what appeared to be an office. He couldn't find Angeles anywhere. There was one place left.

As Dean, panting and put of breath, tried to reach the kitchen fast enough, he heard a sickening crack come from the kitchen. A wind howled throughout the apartment, and black smoke raced through every room in the house, finally flying through the now open window in the living room. Dean froze in place, his heart racing. This couldn't be happening. As he rounded the corner into the kitchen, a sob wrenched itself free from his chest.

Slouched against the island was Angeles, her body beaten and broken.


	9. Chapter 9

No. This- I'm not awake. This is a dream. "It's just a dream, it's just a dream. ANGELES." Dean crouched down next to the body that looked nothing like he had once known it. Her auburn hair was tangled and matted, stuck to her forehead. A gash above her right eye was still oozing blood, mixing with the knotted mess that was her hair. Her left eye was swollen shut, bruised and black; her right arm lay at an odd angle with the bone jutting out.

Dean gazed at Angeles. He could still hear the bright laughter in her voice on the day they first met. The memory of their night together pierced through his chest like an arrow, and he couldn't take it anymore. His chest heaved as he sobbed; his agonizing screams wrenched through the still night. This was his fault. He shouldn't have brought the demon here, to her house. What a stupid mistake, an amateur's folly. He stood up, so fed up with himself. His fist connected with the nearest wall, leaving a small, unnoticeable dent. How could he be so stupid?

He closed his puffy, red eyes. Leaning up against the island, he slowly slid down to the floor and buried his face in his hands. He had lost her. He had lost Angeles. The girl who he had grown to care about, grown to need over the week that he knew her. She was gone, and he couldn't bring her back. He knew that much. He opened his eyes, contemplating how he was going to move on. It didn't matter, he decided.

Reaching over, Dean picked up the girl beside him and held her in his arms. He brushed the mangy hair out of her face and wiped the blood away. "D-Dean?" The faintest of whispers slipped from her mouth. If Dean hadn't been listening so carefully, he would've missed it.

"Angeles? Angeles I'm here, it's me." He whispered softly in her ear. "Hang on Angeles, we'll get help. You're going to be okay." He said it to comfort her as well as convince himself that those words had some truth to them.

"No, Dean." Her voice shuddered. One of her ribs must have broken, because it looked like it to every ounce of strength for her to utter those two words.

"Angeles, hold on. You're going to make it out of this okay, and when you do, I'm going to make you satisfied in everything you do. I'm going to make all your secret wishes come true, Angeles. Just for you." He couldn't stop the tears. Even as he spoke them, he knew the words were just empty promises. "Angeles, all I want to do is spend forever with my arms around you. No one's gonna fool around with us Angeles," he whispered to her. "No one's gonna fool around with us." As the last word fell, slowly, softly, Dean could her last breath slip away from her.

"So glad to meet you, Angeles."


End file.
